


in the nights of cold and quiet

by LiviKate



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Drunk Otabek, Drunk Shenanigans, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Yuuri related angst, aborted smut, drunk Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 05:23:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9220592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiviKate/pseuds/LiviKate
Summary: "Do I need to beat you for the gold before I can ask you to marry me?""And end up like those two? No. If it comes to that, I guess I’ll have to ask you.”Or in which Yuri and Otabek get drunk to celebrate another Grand Prix Final





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know if this is a story or if it has a point at all, it was just in my head and I think it's kinda cute.
> 
> I had originally planned Yuuri's part in this to be a Viktuuri fic, but decided I didnt have enough to say about it for a whole fic and instead it would be a side plot to Otayuri. So, make of that what you will.
> 
> Yuri is seventeen, and they are in love.
> 
> Title from Neil Hilborn's Series of Short Poems.

The stainless steel walls of the elevator were beginning to fog, Yuri noted absently from where his head was tipped back against one, Otabek’s mouth occupying the space under his jaw. He moaned aloud when he felt teeth dig into his tender skin, blood rushing with heat, endorphins and alcohol. His hands were clumsy when they knotted in Otabek’s hair, growing long and thick at the top. He yanked him back, wrenching a groan from the other man as he spun them, pushing him against the adjacent wall and pinning him there with his hips.

“Yeah,” Yuri panted, alcohol clouding in thoughts so that only one could appear through the haze at a time. “You feel so good.”

“You’re beautiful, Yura,” Otabek said lowly, eyes heavy lidded with drink and his mouth swollen and red. He rolled his hips, hitching one leg around Yuri to hold their groins together. They were both hard and panting.

The elevator dinged, the doors open and the pair spilled out into the hallway. They crashed into the wall again, pressing together, hungry and uncoordinated.

“Don’t stop touching me,” Yuri commanded, his voice picking up into a whine that his partner felt in his fingertips. He wrapped his hands around his ribcage and bit into his shoulder. The Russian shuddered in his grip, picking up his legs to wrap around his waist. They were drunk and their balance was off, however, so with Yuri’s additional weight, Otabek tumbled down, knocking the wind out of the younger boy beneath him.

“Fuck,” Yuri wheezed, light headed from the vodka and the sensation of Otabek’s abs grinding harshly against his hard cock, trapped in jeans. He jolted his hips up, fucking himself against the grooves of his stomach. Otabek growled, animalistic and sexy. He fitted both hands around Yuri’s narrow hips and yanked him down so their cocks were aligned. Yuri’s shirt rode up in the back and his skin smarted from the carpet burn, but he moaned anew when he felt his partner’s hard length line up against his.

Otabek grunted against him, hands bruisingly tight, tight enough that the man would feel guilty about their marks when he sobered up. He pushed hard against the blond and Yuri realized that he could come like this, virginal and inexperienced, rubbing off together in the hallway outside his apartment.

“No, Beka, c’mon,” Yuri slurred, pushing at the firm, broad, fabulously well-muscled chest in above him. Otabek whined and mouthed harder at his pale throat. “Get off, we need to get inside,” Yuri insisted, wiggling out from underneath the man. He was not going to give away his virginity on the floor, fifty feet from his bed.

“Here, here, Yura, please,” Otabek said, eyes slipping in and out of focus. Yuri would’ve been concerned about how drunk he was if he was not just as bad.

“No, c’mon, my bed,” he pleaded, peeling himself out from under the other man and staggering to his feet. “Don’t you want to be in my bed, baby? Don’t you want to touch me for the first time in a real bed?” he asked, in what was supposed to be his sexy voice, but came out cottony and thick instead.

It seemed to work, nonetheless, because Otabek was grinning and then lurching after the younger boy as he turned and ran giddily to his apartment.

They hadn’t done this before. They’d been waiting, for something, they’d been nervous and scared, but the vodka washed all of that from their minds, leaving behind only their burning devotion for each other. Yuri knew he hadn’t been ready, had just a couple days ago apologetically pushed his partner away, saying that he couldn’t do it, not when they were competeing, not when he was growing and his whole body felt so foreign. Not when he was still scared.

Yuri didn’t feel any of that now, lost in the haze of alcohol and endorphins. He smiled a loose and clumsy smile, stumbling as he rushed to the door. Otabek caught him as he pulled out his keys, plastering himself to the blond’s back, mouth latching onto his neck, making it exceedingly difficult to find the right key. Yuri braced a hand on the doorframe, supporting most of their weight as Otabek draped himself over his back. He fumbled his keys with a drunk hand, distracted by his boyfriend’s breath on his neck, already pink from the scratch of his stubble.

The Kazakh boy’s hand slid down to squeeze Yuri’s dick through his jeans, gripping tightly and giving him something hot and tight to push against. Yuri’s breath flooded out of him and his vision unfocused. He jammed a random key toward the lock and missed. Then Otabek’s mouth was on his ear, whispering hotly.

“I want you to fuck me with your medal on.” Yuri moaned and shoved at the door, twisting the knob desperately. It sprung open, having never been locked, and Yuri spun around instantly, grabbing his dirty-mouthed boyfriend by the leather jacket and shoving him through the doorway. Otabek stumbled but stayed on his feet, walking backwards with a dangerous gleam in his eyes, mouth open, gaze locked on Yuri, haloed in the open doorway by the light from the hall. Yuri stalked inside after him, like a tiger after its prey, when movement in his periphery caught his attention.

It was Katsudon, sitting on the couch, curled forward nearly over his knees, hands pressed tightly over his ears and tear marks marring his face as he looked up at them in surprise.

“What the fuck?” Yuri asked, looking to Otabek and then back to his roommate, the distressed look on his friend’s face taking a bit to filter in passed the drunken, lust-filled haze. He had a moment of embarrassment in which he yanked down his shirt that had ridden up and covered the hard line of his erection pressing against his zipper.

Katsudon didn’t say anything, just looked at him with shock and misery on his face. It was only when Yuri’s breathing calmed enough for him to hear passed it that he registered the erratic, hitching breaths of his friend.

“Katsu, what’s wrong?” he asked, recognizing the signs of a panic attack and stumbling toward the couch, banging his shin painfully against Viktor’s idiotically low and modern coffee table. He looked over his shoulder to find Otabek waiting quietly, forehead pinched in concern, swaying gently where he stood.

“I’m, I’m, uh,” Katsudon stuttered, throat tight with anxiety. Yuri placed a hand on his back, concentrating very hard on making sure his touch was gentle. He rubbed irregular but well meaning circles into Katsudon’s back, hushing him with syllables that were loose from the alcohol but hopefully still reassuring.

“What’s wrong, Katsudon? Are you okay?” he asked again, shifting to sit next to him on the couch.

“I didn’t win gold,” he finally managed to say, his voice quiet and pinched, like this was all a nightmare and saying it too loud would make it real.

“That’s okay,” Yuri said with a little smile on his drunk face. “I won gold, and Beka got silver,” he flashed a dopey smile over his shoulder to his partner, who had performed fabulously at the Grand Prix, nearly beating him and motivating them both to work harder than ever.

“I needed to win gold,” Katsudon confessed in the quiet space between them. Tears fell from his face and darkened little spots on his knees. “For Viktor.”

“If Viktor wanted gold, he could’ve won it. You beat him for bronze at least,” Yuri said. Viktor had put up an impressive fight and executed an amazing come back after a year off, but it seemed this year that the student had surpassed his teacher. “You did great Katsu,” Yuri said in an effort to console. He petted his back again, unsure what else one did when confronted with a crying person.

“I just… I just,” Katsudon struggled to say. “I just want him to marry me.” His voice was broken but clear. “But I’ll never win gold, not with you and Otabek and Viktor all competing against me. He won’t marry me without it, I have to be good enough. I’m not going to be good enough.”

Otabek let out a low, mournful noise as the Japanese man began to sob again, demonstrating how effected by the vodka he was, to audibly emote.

“I just love him so much,” Katsu said with a hiccupping sob. “I just want him to marry me.”

“Wake Viktor up,” Yuri said quietly to his partner, wrapping Katsudon under his clumsy arm and suddenly feeling far out of his depth. Otabek nodded loosely and began making his slow way down the hall and Yuri listened to his friend cry. His sobs were fuller now, and no longer choked by the grip to anxiety, so Yuri thought that might be an improvement. But he didn’t cry a lot and didn’t know what healthy crying was supposed to sound like. His head started to swim as he thought harder, and the rhythm of his hand on Katsu’s back soothed both of them as they breathed through their separate afflictions.

“Yuuri?” Viktor called as he shuffled into the room, nearly naked and looking half asleep. Yuri rolled his head up, only to realize that Viktor was talking to Katsu.

“He’s sad because you won’t marry him until he gets gold, but Otabek and I are always going to win,” Yuri summarized in slurs as Viktor clambered over the back of the couch to wrap around his fiancé from behind.

“Oh Yuuri. Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri,” Viktor cooed, pulling him back into his chest and into his arms, rocking soothingly. Yuri pulled his hand back before it got squashed between them. He felt a little useless, now that Viktor was here and Katsudon was squirming around in his grip to press his face into his neck. Otabek draped a blanket over Viktor’s naked back, before brushing his hand through Yuri’s hair.

“Yuratchka,” he murmured lowly and Yuri latched onto the sound of his voice. Viktor’s gently assurances faded into the background, a long with the pounding of his head, until there was only space in his awareness for Beka’s hands in his hair and lips pressing against his forehead.

“I don’t feel good,” he confessed quietly, holding onto the older boy’s forearms for stability as the world spun around him.

“Why don’t you two drink some water and head to bed,” Viktor said lowly, reaching out to touch Yuri on the arm with one cool hand. “I’ll come check on you in a little bit.”

“We don’t need a babysitter,” Yuri complained out of habit, using Otabek to pull himself to standing and blunder into the kitchen. He filled up two glasses with water, splashing plenty onto the counter tops. Otabek followed, crowding close to him on one side, nuzzling his hair with his nose. Yuri handed him a glass before pressing his palm to the front of his jeans, feeling his lack of erection. Otabek huffed in surprise but didn’t try to stop him.

“It’s gone,” Yuri commented idly. Otabek shrugged and started drinking. Yuri did the same, gulping down his water desperately, suddenly aware of how thirsty he was. He swallowed hungrily, before setting his empty cup on the wet countertop and leaning heavily into Beka’s side.

“Tired?” the older boy asked, setting down his own glass and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. Yuri nodded against him before grabbing his hand and pulling him towards his bedroom.

As soon as Otabek swung the door shut behind them, Yuri began pulling out of his clothes, feeling constrained and overheated. His hands and arms were clumsy though, both drunk and still acclimating to their taller, bigger, older body, and he got himself tangled in his shirt. He wrestled free, whining that Otabek didn’t help him, but when he pulled the shirt free from his head he saw Otabek sitting on the ground, tiredly trying to pull his big motorcycle boots off. They were too drunk to even get themselves undressed, let alone each other.

Yuri wiggled out of his jeans and collapsed face down on his bed, trying to breathe deeply. He stretched one hand above him and pressed his palm to the wall, anchoring himself so he didn’t feel like he was spinning quite so quickly. He groaned when Otabek landed half on him as he tried to flop over the boy to get to his side of the bed.

“Do you feel like you’ll get sick?” he asked, in the low, rumbly voice that always made Yuri feel calm and safe.

“I don’t think so,” he said quietly. He cracked one eye open. “You didn’t turn the light off.” Otabek groaned, loud and upset, before moving to sit up. “No, I’ll get it,” Yuri said, pushing him back down as he sat up. “You’ll just kick me getting back into bed.” He staggered to the far wall, flipped his switch and then managed with even less grace to make it back in the dark and flop back down, this time rolling into Otabek’s side. He flung an arm over his partner’s waist and nuzzled his face into his shoulder. “Don’t throw up on me, kay?”

Otabek chuckled lightly, but Yuri could tell his eyes were already closed. It was quiet for a moment, while Yuri pressed his face strongly into the round, solid muscle of the older boy’s shoulder, trying to steady his rushing head and breathing. He thought about Beka’s mouth on him, his hands, how much he didn’t want him to stop. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol turning on him or what, but he felt a little sick.

“Yuratchka,” Otabek rumbled, and Yuri jumped because he thought he’d been asleep. He pressed a kiss to his arm because he didn’t know what his voice would sound like. “We almost had sex.” Yuri groaned and rolled away, taking the trauma to his stomach over the conversation. “Don’t go,” Otabek whined, though, like a total teddy bear, and rolled after him, spooning him unapologetically.

“Are you mad we stopped?” Yuri asked, wrapping his hands, bigger now that he was a year older, around Otabek’s wrists, firm and strong from lifting and yoga.

“No,” he said, snuffling against the back of his neck, undoubtedly getting hair in his mouth. “I’m glad we stopped.” Yuri sighed with relief. “Are you mad we stopped?”

“No, I’m glad too,” Yuri said, voice quiet and honest, pressing his lips in a gentle brush over where his boyfriend’s pulse beat steadily under his skin. The smell of Otabek was covering those of sticky sweet drinks and club sweat and other people.

“I love you, Yura,” he whispered into long blond hair.

“I love you, too,” Yuri said. “That’s why I’m glad we didn’t. I want it to be special.” Otabek hummed in agreement and kissed his ear. “Or whatever sappy shit you always say,” Yuri said reflexively, obviously covering up his embarrassment. Otabek laughed again, pinching his ear between his teeth teasingly before settling down with his nose pressed at the nape of his neck.

Yuri had almost drifted off to sleep before Otabek’s chest rumbled against his back again.

“Do I need to beat you for the gold before I can ask you to marry me?” Yuri laughed, high and happy and not caring if his partner was joking or not.

“And end up like those two?” Yuri huffed. “No. If it comes to that, I guess I’ll have to ask you.” Otabek laughed, low in his chest, vibrating against Yuri’s side as he slowly slid over him.

“You wanna marry me, Yuratchka?” he murmured against his lips.

“Some day,” he said, before kissing him sweetly. “Yeah, I’m gonna marry you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should apologize, but it's late. Yell at me in the comments plz.


End file.
